Hands
by Onesimus42
Summary: Mrs. Hughes thoughts at mealtime
1. Chapter 1

**Author's note: These lovely characters don't belong to me. I have simply played with them for awhile and will put them back in their DVD box later. This story is embarassingly a fanfic of a fanfic in a way. When I read Lavender and Hay's lovely "Mrs. Hughes' New Dress", it just didn't seem fair that Charles should be the only one preoccupied at mealtime. So here is the silly idea I came up with.**

Mrs. Hughes blamed her too vivid imagination, and Mr. Carson, of course; men were always to blame. She just couldn't take her eyes off his hands. She watched as his fingers tapped impatiently on the table, as his hand gripped the knife to carve the meat, as he wrapped his fingers around his glass, and as he raised his fork to take a bite.

They were rather nice hands really. They were large, with long fingers. He kept them very clean, since he served at table, except for the faintest ink stain on the edge of his right forefinger from years of writing. They were strong from years of hard work, but not rough as a farmer's hands would be.

The fact that she knew now how those hands felt was her primary problem, and for that she most certainly blamed Charles Carson. She knew how his hand felt on the bare skin of her throat as he'd traced it with the tips of his fingers and how it felt gripping the back of her neck as he'd drawn her to him for a kiss. She could still feel the path that hand had taken from her shoulder to her bottom as he'd clutched her closer to him. Her imagination was to be blamed because she could also imagine how his hand would feel tracing that same path without the bothersome cloth of her dress in the way.

This last thought caused her to blush, blinking her eyes quickly and looking down toward her plate. _What was wrong with her to be thinking of Mr. Carson, of all people, in such a wanton way?_ Not that he wasn't very nice; he had a good sense of humor and was intelligent, quite pleasant to spend time with actually. She had long ago resigned herself to the fact that she was probably going to grow old with him, and it was not an unpleasant prospect. She just had never thought she would grow old _with _him; with him touching her, stroking her, and holding her with those hands. Closing her eyes again, she tried to gather her thoughts and calm them.

She had loved Mr. Carson for years, certainly, in a sisterly sort of way. She'd always assumed they would grow old together like a spinster sister and bachelor brother. Spending their days and evenings together but going off to their own beds at the end of the day. Now, though, she felt anything but sisterly toward him, and she certainly wouldn't want him to go off to his own bed at the end of the day. She would want him and his hands in her own bed every night and perhaps some days as well, touching and holding her. She was appalled at the _lust; _there was really no other way to put it, she felt for the man. Again, she caught herself staring at his hand as he raised his napkin to wipe the corner of his mouth.

She looked away quickly and then her eyes darted back to his face. Unless she was very much mistaken, he had the tiniest of smiles and seemed to be biting the inside of his jaw to keep from smiling more. He couldn't suspect, could he? If he suspected she was sure that she would die of embarrassment. They needed to talk this out, and she was determined to do it as soon as possible.

"Mr. Carson, I was wondering if I could have your assistance with a small matter this evening."

"Certainly, Mrs. Hughes, I would be happy to give you a hand," he replied smiling.

He most certainly suspected, and her mortification increased to the point that she thought death might be preferable, after she killed him, of course.


	2. Chapter 2

**This is just a little prequel to chapter 1. **

Charles blamed himself for giving in to the impulse and Elsie Hughes of course; women were always to blame. He supposed the reason he'd given in was that after 30 years of forcefully resisting any and all impulses he was rather surprised that he still had any. Now he was having lots of impulses and was almost overwhelmed with the desire to give in to them. He blamed Mrs. Hughes because all these impulses had to do with her.

These impulses were not necessarily new. When she first came to Downton as head housemaid, he had been very attracted to her. He felt that as butler he should not take advantage of his position and so had resisted those impulses. When she rose to the position of housekeeper, he had entertained the notion of exploring his attraction, but having very little experience with romance, he'd never really figured out how to do it. As more time went by, he found that his concern over losing her friendship outweighed his desire for a romantic relationship, most of the time anyway. Now that he had given in to the impulse, his desire for her outweighed everything.

He blamed Elsie Hughes for all of this, because if she had been wearing her usual high-necked dress, he would never have felt her skin. She had been in his pantry talking to him about mundane household matters while he was preparing to go up to serve dinner. He'd pulled on his jacket, and she reached up to straighten his tie, as she had done many times. Since she was standing on tiptoe to reach him, he'd placed his hand on her shoulder to steady her. His right forefinger had brushed the smooth white skin on the side of her neck instead of stiff black fabric. The feeling mesmerized him to the point that he felt the need to stroke her neck with his finger so that he could feel more of her skin. She'd gasped slightly drawing his attention to her lips. Suddenly the impulse struck him to explore what the skin of her lips would feel like with his own. His hand went from stroking lightly to gripping the back of her neck as he drew her to him. As he kissed her, he trailed his hand to her shoulder and down to her bottom to draw her to him, wishing all the while that there was no stiff black dress between his hand and her skin.

Drawing her tight against him had made him realize that he felt anything but just friendship for her. It had likely made her realize, too, as the few layers of fabric in between were not that thick. He wanted to feel more of her, all of her actually, with all of him. He'd previously imagined that they would likely grow old together in their friendly way, enjoying each other's company while living separate lives. Now he most certainly did not want to live separately from her. If he was truthful he never wanted to separate from her again. He wanted to spend all his nights, and perhaps some days as well, enjoying more than just her company.

The knock on his pantry door and William's call had caused him to pull back reluctantly. He paused to catch his breath and managed to call out that he would be with him in a minute in a somewhat normal voice. Turning back to Elsie, he was gratified to notice that she seemed just a little breathless, too.

"Elsie, I'm-," he began.

"Charles Carson, don't you dare apologize for kissing me," Elsie interrupted.

"I wasn't going to apologize," he said defensively, "I was going to say that I'm late and would like to continue this after our dinner."

"Don't you think we should discuss this?" she asked.

"Maybe, after dinner," he said firmly, and then continued smiling, "Sometimes talking is over-rated, though."

She gave a short laugh, "Sometimes it is. You should fix your tie before you go out."

"You don't want to do it for me?" he asked grinning a little wickedly.

"Not if you want to make it upstairs to serve dinner," she replied wryly.

After he'd finished serving dinner upstairs and was making his way into the servants' hall for his own, he reflected that perhaps giving in to impulses wasn't so bad after all.


	3. Chapter 3

**This part gets pretty M at the end. I think it can end pretty well at the break as well. **

The rest of the night after dinner had been painfully long for them both. After their own dinner, Charles went up to see to the family until they made their way to bed. Elsie stayed below stairs to supervise the washing up and see that all was put up properly in the china closet. She was somewhat grateful that Charles was not here so that she could concentrate. It was overwhelming to have gone so long as merely friends, and now to be, to want to be, so much more. These emotions were so new to her, almost overpowering. At least, he felt the same. She hoped he felt the same. Surely he couldn't have kissed her like that unless he did. A little jealously she wondered where he had learned to kiss like that.

Coming downstairs a little later than usual, Charles noticed that the only light seemed to be coming from his housekeeper's parlor. He sighed, supposing that they'd have to have their 'talk' now. It was not that he wanted to avoid Elsie; he just didn't want to talk. He wanted to touch and to feel. He'd gone for years trying to pretend that he didn't feel and didn't want to touch, and now he wanted to do nothing else, at least for a little while. If they talked about this, then he was sure that they would convince themselves not to feel anymore, and he didn't want to go back to a time when they didn't touch.

Walking into her parlor, he was surprised when she brushed past him quickly to shut the door. A soft click told him that she'd locked it as well. He turned to her and began, "Elsie-"

He was cut off by her lips on his, hands clutching his shoulders to pull herself up. She surprised him enough that he stumbled backward for a moment before righting himself and leaning forward to deepen the kiss. His arms moved from his sides to grasp her bottom and pull her to him. Her hands on the back of his head, she held his lips against her own. Breathless and a little overwhelmed, he moved his lips from hers to trail kisses along her jaw to just behind her left ear and nuzzled her there. She gasped and clutched at his shoulders, swaying a little. He pulled back, "You didn't want to talk?"

"No, I want to continue. Besides, I thought you said talking was over-rated."

He smiled and bent back to her lips, kissing her as he backed her gently and persistently toward the sofa. When the backs of her legs struck the sofa, he stopped and pulled his head back again. "Elsie, I-, are you sure that you don't want to stop?"

"Charles, I'm not sure exactly what I want, but it is certainly not to stop."

Hesitating, Charles said, "I'll probably hate myself for this tomorrow, but if you're not sure then perhaps we should stop."

She looked at him, frustrated and a little angry now, "Why?"

"If we go any farther, I won't ever be able to go back. You aren't just a means of release for me Elsie. I love you. I had convinced myself until tonight that I didn't need the physical side, but I do. If we stop now I may, with considerable difficulty, be able go back to being Mr. Carson to your Mrs. Hughes, but if we continue I can never be anyone to you but Charles. Do you want that?"

"Yes, _Charles_, I want that. I would like to be your Elsie."

He smiled, bending back to her lips as his hands moved to the buttons of her dress, and more importantly stopped talking.

There were no more sounds after that until Elsie exclaimed, "Ow!" and pulled her head back.

Charles pulled back from his attentions to the skin behind her ear to ask, "What is it? Was I too rough?"

"No! Your collar poked me in the eye!"

"I'm sorry. Take it off then."

"I was trying to until you distracted me."

"This is distracting?" he asked kissing behind her left ear again.

She clutched his lapels and sighed, "Very"

He chuckled causing her to sway just a little, "Alright let me help with my collar."

Once he'd pulled back, Elsie's head cleared enough to work on the buttons of his waistcoat while he removed tie and collar. She started on the buttons of his shirt until he mercilessly renewed his attack behind her ear. She sighed and decided to give up the fight, wrapping her arms around his waist.

He retreated only to work his way down her jaw and neck to her collarbone as he raised his hands to continue to unbutton her dress, exposing more skin and kissing each inch as it was revealed. Pushing her dress off her shoulders, he was faced with the challenge of her corset. He leaned back to study it, and she turned around to be helpful. "Um, Elsie, what do I do with this?"

"Well, I rather hoped you'd take it off."

"I'm planning on it," he replied testily, "but how?"

"You don't know?"

"I don't do this on a daily basis. Would you please just show me how it works?" he asked exasperated.

"I'm sorry, Charles," she said reaching behind her to guide his hands, "I just thought you know, you'd done this before."

He paused for a moment, "It's been a long time."

"How long?"

"Long enough that I don't remember how to remove a corset. Ahh! There, that's done it!" he said as he started to pull her corset off.

"Good! You'll remember how for next time."

"You're already planning on a next time?" he asked as he dropped the corset to the side and wrapped his arms around her waist.

"Well, yes. Aren't you?" she asked.

"Yes, but it seemed too much to hope"

She lifted his hand from her waist to her lips to kiss his palm, "I was a little distracted at supper."

Turning her in his arms, he said, "I noticed. What were you thinking?"

"I was remembering and imagining," she said as she leaned toward him for another kiss.

"Remembering how my hands felt?" he asked between kisses.

"Yes," she sighed, "and imagining how they would feel without my dress in the way."

"Here?" he asked as he put his hand on her shoulder.

"Mmmm, yes, and lower."

Placing his lips against her forehead and his hand on her mid-back, he teased, "Here?"

"Lower, Charles."

Grinning against her check, he placed his hand on the curve of her spine and lifting his head to look at her, raised his eyebrows questioningly.

"Charles," she warned, and he cupped her bottom with both hands drawing her against him to kiss her deeply.

She pulled away after a few moments to kiss the underside of his jaw. "You're rather over-dressed for these activities."

Looking down, he saw that he still had shirt, trousers and shoes on. "Help me, then," he said a little huskily.

Watching his eyes, she unbuttoned his shirt, brushing her fingers across his chest as she pushed it off his shoulders. Her hands moved to the top of his trousers where he stopped them. "I'll do the rest. Remove your shift and lie down."

Complying with his request, she lay down and watched as he divested himself of the rest of his clothing and came to lie nude against her. She asked, "You don't want to blow out the light?"

"I'd like to leave it on if you don't mind. I want to watch you."

Lifting himself on one elbow, so that he could touch her breasts with his other hand, he stroked his thumb back and forth across her nipple, "Did you imagine how my hand would feel here?"

"Yes," she sighed, breath quickening.

He was mesmerized by the look of delight on her face, with her eyes half closed and mouth parted slightly.

He dipped his mouth to her breast pulling her nipple into his mouth and encircling it with his tongue. His hand trailed down her abdomen to the triangle of hair at her center. "And here?" he whispered against her breast.

She whimpered a little and nodded her head in reply.

He slipped one finger between her warm, wet folds and began to move tongue and finger in rhythm. As he felt her release building, he pulled his hand back and lifted himself over her. Pausing briefly, he bent to kiss her as he pushed inside. His began a slow rhythm with deep strokes until he felt her tighten around him. Unable to hold back any longer, his movements became shorter and more erratic as he neared his own release. With a groan, he stiffened against her. He held himself up for another moment until his arms began to quiver, and he dropped with his back against the sofa, pulling her close beside him.

He lay in quiet satisfaction listening to her purr against his chest, and feeling her body pressed against him.

"Yes, Charles, talking is over- rated."

He laughed and pulled the rug over them both.


End file.
